by Aiden Bates
For now, he could work and mourn by turns. As long as he hid out in here, unmolested by the outside world, he could work faster and better. Then they could leave, and Mal would never have to be reminded of Trent again.
Well, not until he started showing, anyway.
He fell asleep on the fourth day. He knew he was hungry, but he ignored it. He didn't want to have to deal with Morna's lectures or pity. When he fell asleep, he knew he wasn't in good shape, but he figured he'd get over it soon enough. He'd make himself some broth or something when he got around to it.
He woke up two days later, still in the same position. No one had come for him. No one had checked on him. In six days of radio silence, two of which hadn't seen him produce even a single email, not a single person had thought it important enough to check on his well being.
He weakly threw his notepad across the room. Even that much movement made his stomach lurch, and only his own extensive training — and the emptiness of his stomach — kept him from getting sick all over everything. He picked up what was left of the jug of water and sipped from it.
There wasn't much left.
Well, it was just as well. If he could crawl to the bathroom, he could get more. He knew he was badly dehydrated. Maybe his life wasn't worth much to anyone else, but it was to him.
He slunk down the short hallway and dragged himself up to the sink. His legs were too weak to support him, but his shoulders weren't. He held himself up with his arms and stuck his head under the old faucet. This probably wasn't the most sanitary way to get water into himself, and he knew it, but he couldn't think of any other way.
He drank as much as he could, then lowered himself back to the ground. If he couldn't keep it down then that was it. He wouldn't have to try to give birth alone without medical care. If he kept it down, he'd see what he could do about getting to his feet. Either way, he wasn't about to ask anyone else for help.
Not after two days.
He waited for the cramping in his belly to subside. For a moment, he wondered if he was miscarrying. What would he do if he was? Ride it out and hope for the best? Try field surgery on himself, in weakened condition, with no anesthetic? Bleed to death, internally, if his birth canal didn't form as part of the miscarriage process?
The cramps passed. He wasn't miscarrying or dying. Not yet. It was just his stomach rebelling at the sudden addition of water.
He struggled to his feet, which made the world spin, and staggered into the kitchen, holding onto the wall for balance and grateful that the apartment was on one level.
Morna was in there, reading her tablet. She looked up when she saw him. "You stink."
Mal ran his tongue against the back of his teeth. Should he confront her, or should he hold back? He decided to hold back. It was only three steps over to the cabinet. They had to have some kind of powdered vegetable soup mix or something, right?
"You don't look so hot." Morna wrinkled her nose at him. "You need a shower. When's the last time you changed your clothes? I know you had a fight with Trent, but seriously. Personal hygiene, man. It's a thing."
Mal glowered at her. "Actually, Morna…" He let himself trail off. His voice was too raspy right now to speak well anyway. The box of soup mix was right within his grasp. His time would be better spent focusing on getting better, on getting strong enough to leave, than on getting into a spat with Morna.
His hands shook as he struggled with the packet, but he managed to pour the contents into a mug and put the kettle on. He supported himself while he waited for it to boil.
Morna watched him as he tottered over to the table, sloshing broth everywhere, to sit down. "You'll be picking that up."
"Actually, Morna, I don't think I shall." He smiled over at her, bright and false, before staring down at his mug. "What's been going on in the world while I've been unconscious?"
"Unconscious?" Morna snorted. "Dramatic much? Let me see. There was an airplane crash in the States, near Montana I think. I don't know where Montana is, but the Yanks are sad about it. Other than that, things are pretty much the same. What've you been doing in there, since you haven't been washing or changing your clothes?"
"Working. Then passing out." Mal shrugged. "Me own fault, I suppose. I didn't eat, so." He sipped at his broth.
"You're pregnant, you dim bulb. You have to eat."
Mal snorted. "It's not like it matters, yeah? I'm not keeping it." He sipped again. His eyes burned, and he knew he'd be fighting tears if he weren't so damn thirsty.
"Oh, Mal. Come on. You don't want to give up your baby, do you?" Morna reached out and put a hand on his arm.
"Doesn't matter. Can't change nappies while you're sneaking up on a trafficker, can you?" He shook his head.
"But Trent wants it." She looked up at him with her big blue eyes. "What about him?"
"I'm not sitting around to raise a child alone, Morna. If he had any plans of being around for the kid maybe it would be different, but he doesn't, so here we are." He gripped his mug. His hands shook too badly to keep the broth in the cup, so he lowered it to the table.
"You're real shook up about it, aren't you?" Morna shook her head.
"Wouldn't you be?" Mal rolled his eyes. "I'll get over it, for crying out loud. The sooner we can get off this island the better."
"Mal." Morna bit her lip. "Look. I wasn't eavesdropping on your fight with Trent, but the walls are thin. He wasn't exactly Mr. Loving Partner, but you jumped to a conclusion or two there. You care for him, and he cares for you too."
Mal let his head hang back so far he was looking at the ceiling. "Morna, once kids become part of the picture, however distant a part, they don't care for the people carrying them. The only thing that matters is the womb. If he ever cared for me, and I did think he did at one point, it stopped once I told him I was pregnant. And I should have known better than to believe he did in the first place."
"Mal, that's not true. He was attached. Anyone could see it." Morna pulled her hand back.
"Well, he's not now. All he cares about is the baby, and that it exists. He doesn't care if birthing it kills me, and he doesn't care if the kid and I have to beg in the streets. He's happy enough to cast it off on some random relative, but I can go crawl into a hole and die. He'll never see the kid, I'd never see the kid, and the kid would just be out there, cast off on some relative like an afterthought."
Morna pursed her lips. "Something tells me that wasn't his intent. But if that's what you got out of it, I'm not going to argue with you." She shook her head. "Da will be unhappy. He's not going to want you out of the field long enough to give birth and recover."
"I'm not getting out of the field." Mal scoffed. Deep inside, he wanted to step back. He could still enter the enemy's systems, and he could do that from just about anywhere, but he'd rather not put himself to more physical risk than he had to right now. He didn't have an option, not at the moment. "I'm going to finish this job, and then I'm moving to the next. Trent can call me selfish all he wants, but I'm going to keep on working as long as I can."
Morna looked at him like he had three heads. "That's a terrible idea. You'll get yourself killed."
"Then I do. What is it Da used to tell us? The cause is bigger than any one life?" Mal shook his head. "I used to think it was crap, but Da was right. I can see it now."
"What do you mean you thought it was crap? And what do you mean you can see it now?" Morna put her hands on her hips.
"Oh, come on. Back then, I always wondered why we couldn't have the same life everyone else did. I used to dream that someday, you know, someday I'd have a family, maybe settle down. That's stupid. I don't even…I can't even see that for myself now." Mal forced himself to chuckle.
He could see it all stretching out before him. He could see, just as easily, it was all a mirage. "The life we've lived, the people we are, we're not suited for that stuff now. Do you know, I don't know how to change a nappy? I don't know how to wash a baby, or how to hold one. I can't cook in a proper kitchen
and laundry confuses me. I'd be a useless husband, frankly." He bowed his head.
"You're upset that Trent didn't propose." Morna's voice was barely above a whisper.
"It would have been nice for him to make some token attempt, but he couldn't. Not really." Mal shook his head. "No. He'll go his way. I'll go mine. It's better to not even think about it, you know? We do the job that's in front of us, and Morna, babies don't enter into the picture." He looked out the window.
It might have been nice to dream about, but fatherhood hadn't ever been in the cards for Mal.
~
While Mal was working and hiding in his room, Trent had work of a different sort. For all of his enthusiasm when Mal broke the news, babies hadn't been part of his worldview. Now they were, for better or worse, and Trent needed to do the right thing.
Deep down, he knew what his vision of the "right thing" would be. He would go to that tiny apartment Mal and Morna shared, and he would bring a ring. He would drop down to one knee, and Mal would be delighted. He might even swoon. When the SEALs returned to Virginia, Mal would go with them. They'd get married at the courthouse, and that would be the end of it.
Trent put his life on the line for the United States often enough. He thought he could expect a little bit back, in the form of letting the man carrying his child into the country.
That was selfish thinking, though, and he banished the image from his mind. In the first place, if Mal wasn't carrying the child of one of the guys from Trent's unit, Trent would be one of the first to say Mal didn't belong in America. He didn't just have a general disregard for the law, he had been raised without any concept of laws at all. That could only go one way, and it was "bad."
In the second place, Mal didn't want to go to America. He'd brought up the possibility, but a ridiculous possibility. You sure as hell aren't about to bring me back to America with you. Okay, the accusation had been correct, but it still rubbed Trent the wrong way that Mal had just dismissed the possibility out of hand.
And his wording had put the responsibility squarely on Trent. Trent didn't like that one bit.
That wasn't important right now. What was important was the fate of the baby. The idea that Mal might surrender it for adoption made Trent want to vomit. He had to come up with an alternative, and he had to do it fast. Abortion was equally unpalatable, unthinkable even, but the risks were so high for an omega that Trent dismissed it out of hand.
He sought out Chief. Whatever came next, the Master Chief would know what steps to take.
He asked Chief for a private conversation the day after his fight with Mal, and they met up the next night. They headed out to one of the docks, where they sat out and looked at the stars for a little while. Then Chief turned to Trent. "Well, son? I know you didn't bring me out here to practice your astronomy skills."
Trent blushed. "Sorry, Chief. I, ah, I've got a bit of a problem."
Chief looked back out over the bay. "Do you need a trip to Medical and a shot of penicillin?"
"No, Chief. I. Um. Mal is pregnant."
Chief stiffened, and he went silent. Then he turned to Trent. "Damn it, boy, I know you know better than that. Your uncles taught you better than that. I taught you better than that, God damn it. What in the Sam Hell were you thinking? You always use a condom, every time!"
Trent shrunk himself down as far as he could. "I know, Chief. And we did. I swear. But I guess one broke, or had a little tear, or something. I don't know. Because he's definitely pregnant."
Chief sighed. "Do you think he did it on purpose, to get a green card?"
Trent gasped. "What? No! First of all, he's not like that. Second, they were all my condoms." His face burned and he looked away. "I didn't want to take any chances. Um, you know."
"Well that worked out well, didn't it? Fuck." Chief spat into the water. "Here's the thing, Kelly. We can look into bringing him to America, but I don't think it's going to work out well."
Trent tugged at his collar. "Er, I don't think he'd want that, Chief. He doesn't want the baby."
Chief tilted his head. "Come again?"
"He's not happy about this at all. He's all in a flutter because he doesn't want to quit what he's doing to raise the kid, and he doesn't think he can go to a hospital because of who he is. Says if he's going to take that kind of risk he might as well surrender the kid."
Chief stared off into the stars for a while. "Well, I guess I can see his point."
"Chief!" Trent gasped.
"I don't have to like it, but he doesn't know any other way to live than the way he was raised. If he doesn't want to raise the kid that way — and you can't tell me you want your kid raised like he was — what option does he have?" Chief shook his head. "You know me. I've got some pretty traditional views about omegas. But if settling down isn't an option, what's he supposed to do? Strap it to his back while he climbs up the side of a building?"
Trent glared. "Settling down is an option. It's what he should do, damn it. It's what's best for him and what's best for the baby." Then he rubbed at the back of his neck. "But I can sit here and talk until I'm blue in the face about what I think is best, but I can't make him do a damn thing. Right now, he doesn't see another option."
"I'm not seeing many myself, son." Chief lifted an eyebrow. "You yourself haven't mentioned marrying him, so I don't think that's in the cards."
Trent closed his mouth. "No, I guess I haven't. It's not an option anyway. He can't come to America, and I can't leave the Navy." He closed his eyes. "So anyway, I thought I'd call my uncles. They did a good job with me, maybe they'd be willing to take the baby."
"They did a great job with you thirty years ago, when you were already toilet trained." Chief shook his head. "You can ask them, and they might just say yes. But don't get your hopes up, kid. A baby's a lot of work. They might not be feeling up to chasing after one at their age, or be inclined to deal with midnight feedings."
"It's worth a try." Trent clenched his hands into fists at his sides. "It's family."
Chief grimaced, and said he'd arrange for Trent to call home tomorrow. At the same time, he'd start looking for ways for Trent to bring Mal back to the States. "I wouldn't get my hopes up about that, either. It doesn't look good, all things considered, but I'd rather keep all your options open. But damn it, Kelly, wrap it next time."
Trent considered reminding the Master Chief that he had, in fact, wrapped it. Then he thought better of it.
He called his uncles the next day. Uncle Jonas was the alpha, his father's brother, and a retired Navy man himself. Uncle Nick was Jonas' husband, an omega, and never far from his side. Trent had moved in with them at the great age of three, after his father's death, and he couldn't imagine being closer to anyone.
"Uncle Jonas, Uncle Nick. It's good to hear your voices." He smiled, in spite of himself. "I have a favor to ask. I've gotten myself into a bit of a problem."
He explained his situation, leaving out the parts about Mal's checkered past. All he told them about Mal was that Mal "doesn't live the kind of lifestyle that's suited to parenthood, and doesn't really want a kid anyway," and he wasn't going to propose to him. Uncle Nick just about lost his mind when Trent told him Mal "didn't want a kid."
"What the hell kind of omega could even give up a kid?" he fumed. "That's what we're for, for crying out loud! Having babies and bringing them up! Is he defective? Is that why you're not marrying him? I know we raised you better than to leave someone in a lurch, Trent Kelly."
Trent smiled, just a little. "There are some family issues there. Let's just say he doesn't come from the best environment." That covered plenty, right? "It's complicated, and I don't agree with it, but it's not like you can argue someone into wanting kids, you know?"
"I guess." Nick sighed. "The thing is, Trent, we're old. If this were fifteen years ago, or even ten, we'd have been all over it. Now, we need to sit back and think about it."
Jonas took over. "A baby right now would be cute and cuddly. We're in our sixties
now. Can two guys in their seventies and eighties keep up with a teenager? I'm not so sure. It's something to consider, to not take on lightly. Give us a few days and call us back. We'll let you know what we decide then, okay?"
Trent had been hoping for a full assent, but he completely understood their reluctance. He respected them even more because of it, in a weird kind of way. "Okay. Thanks, guys. I appreciate it."
"I know you do. You still make us proud, Trent. And I know your dad's looking down from Heaven, proud as anything too."
Trent reported back to Chief. He needed a backup plan.
